Means of Escape
by PinkElephant42
Summary: Abandoned after the Battle of the Tower, Draco is forced to turn to people he wouldn’t expect to help him. Eventual HarryDraco, HarryNeville, RonHermione. Slash, torture, violence, sexual situations.
1. Into the Forbidden Forrest

**Means of Escape: ****Into the Forbidden Forest**

---

This story contains slash, torture, violence, and sexual situations. It has not only Harry/Draco, but Harry/Neville and Hermione/Ron as well.

Thank you to my lovely beta, Hecticity.

---

"Father! Wait, I can't keep up!" Draco panted, but his words were lost in the darkness and mist.

He had failed both Voldemort and his family, and now they were _running_, hoping the Death Eaters wouldn't follow them into the Forbidden Forest. Lucius held tightly to Narcissa's hand, pulling her along, while Draco trailed after them. Narcissa was wailing, calling for her son, and Lucius was snapping at her.

"This is no time to be worried about the disgraceful boy!"

Something wrapped itself around Draco's ankle, and he fell, hitting the ground hard. He lay stunned for a moment before scrambling to his knees and shuffling forward. His parents were already far ahead of him. He could barely see them anymore.

"Father! Mother!"

Whatever it was that had tripped him still clung tightly to his foot, and Draco struggled against it. He was dirty, cold, and scared – though he would never admit to anyone that he was. He tried to convince himself that if he could go back and do it all over, he wouldn't fail.

"Father!"

But they were gone, swallowed by the forest.

Draco struggled for a bit longer, but more vines and roots twisted around him, holding him to the forest floor. He tried to pound his fist in the dirt, an indignant show of frustration, but found his arm held down tightly. Realizing that he couldn't reach his wand, Draco tried to form a defensive spell in his mind, but he was too tired and weak to gather the strength or concentration required for wandless magic.

He gave up. All he could hope for now was someone to either rescue him or kill him.

The forest went silent around him. His fear mounted, and his breathing grew increasingly ragged. Before he could stop it, a loud sob escaped his lips.

He held his breath. What if someone, or some_thing_ heard that? They'd come after him. He'd die.

Draco didn't want to die. He began to panic, even more so than before.

Then there were footsteps, and Draco simultaneously hoped that they were coming for him, and that they would pass him by. If it was a Death Eater, he would die, and if it was a member of the Order… well, they'd probably kill him too. Shit.

_Why_ had he agreed to Voldemort's assignment? To kill Dumbledore? There was no glory in killing old, defenseless fools! Besides, _he wasn't a killer_, even though he'd like to think he was brave enough. To back down like he had was cowardly.

The footsteps drew closer, and Draco dropped his head to the ground, hiding his face in the leaves and underbrush – as if that would do any good.

A shock of light – Draco was almost sure it was green – swept through the trees, and Draco was _sure_ it was the end for him; but then whatever was holding him down seemed to disappear, and he was being dragged harshly to his feet. His vision was swimming, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Come on, Malfoy, get up!" The voice was familiar, but in that moment, Draco couldn't quite place it. He felt weak and lightheaded, and leaned against the person.

"Can't you support your own weight? Are you hurt?"

The voice was now laced with concern. Draco opened his eyes tentatively, and blinked a few times. The forest slowly came into focus, and he turned his head to look at the person he was leaning on.

"Potter!"

He stumbled backwards, surprised both at the presence of the boy, and how loud his voice seemed in the quiet forest. Harry caught his arm before he fell and pulled Draco back toward him.

Draco struggled. "Let go of me!"

"No! Not if you're going to run again."

"What do you want from me?"

Harry gasped and looked away. Draco sneered. "Look, Potter-"

"Shut up," Harry said. He craned his neck, looking for something. Then Draco heard it too: there were voices in the distance.

Harry lurched forward, pulling Draco with him. "Come on!"

Draco stumbled again, then began running alongside Harry. He wasn't even sure _why._ But Harry didn't seem like he wanted to kill Draco, and what mattered most in that moment was survival.

Draco noticed for the first time that there was a dull ache in his right ankle. He tried to ignore it, but it grew persistently worse the farther they went.

"Where are… we… going?" he panted.

"We'll loop around and come out near Hagrid's hut. He'll hide you," Harry said confidently

"I'm not… taking he... help from… dirty… half-breeds."

"Shut up, Malfoy, you sound pitiful."

Harry's hand tightened on Draco's arm, dragging him along. Sharp pain shot up his leg every time he landed his right foot. Draco wanted to protest more, but he was having trouble breathing. Arguing with Potter just didn't seem worth it at the moment.

Finally, Harry stopped running. Draco staggered to a clumsy stop, nearly running straight into him.

"Why-"

"Shut up," Harry demanded again.

Draco prepared a scathing remark, but decided against it. His life was on the line, after all.

Harry and Draco listened to the forest for a moment. They could hear an owl in the distance, but no footsteps. They seemed to be safe for now. Draco let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Come on," Harry said. He let go of Draco's hand and trusted him to follow, but Draco didn't move.

After a few steps, Harry stopped and turned, an expectant look on his face.

"Why did you save me?" Draco demanded.

Harry paused before answering, "You were in danger."

"We've done nothing but fight these last few years."

"I… yeah. Sorry about that."

Draco didn't have a response for that. Potter was _apologizing_?

"Look, Malfoy, the Death Eaters are after both of us. They could find us at any minute, and I know a way to protect us both. So you either come with me, or you face death again."

Draco narrowed his eyes, debating. Could he make it on his own? He certainly didn't want help from Harry-Bloody-Potter. Draco made up his mind and turned around. He began walking – or rather, limping, as his ankle hurt even more now – in the opposite direction Harry had been taking him.

"Malfoy!" Harry called.

"I don't need your help," Draco sneered.

"Fine then!" Draco turned in time to see Harry stomping away, presumably toward Hagrid's hut.

---

Draco didn't know where he was, or where he was going. He _hoped_ he was moving away from Hogwarts, but at the same time, _hoped_ he would come to the edge of the Forbidden Forest soon. He hated the eerie quiet, the cold breeze, and most of all, the nearly debilitating throbbing in his ankle. It seemed like he'd been walking for _hours_, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could go on.

He tripped, again. "Fuck!" He landed hard on his hands and knees, pain shooting through his wrists. It seemed the forest was out to get him. He couldn't count the number of times he'd fallen that night.

"What are you doing here?"

Draco looked up, afraid. Two centaurs stood above him, weapons drawn. One was dark in both fur and skin, the other paler with red fur. The dark one stomped his hooves irritably.

"Answer, boy," he demanded.

"I… I don't know. I didn't mean to… I'm trying to get out of here." Draco hated how desperate he sounded.

"Why did you enter our forest?" the dark one asked again, obviously looking for answers Draco wasn't prepared to give.

"I followed my father."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know!" Draco was becoming increasingly frustrated, with both the centaurs' questioning and his own fear.

"Liar!" the centaur accused. His voice echoed through the dense forest.

Draco cowered on the ground.

"No! I'm sorry!" Draco cried, even as something in the back of his mind said, _Malfoys never apologize._

"Bane," the red-furred centaur said. His voice was less harsh than the darker one's – Bane's – and Draco chanced a look up.

"What, Ronan?"

"Look at him. He tells the truth."

Bane snorted. "We should kill him. He should never have come here in the first place."

"He is a child."

"He is old enough to know to stay out of places where he doesn't belong."

Ronan seemed to notice for the first time that Draco was listening to them _intently_, and lowered his voice, so that Draco couldn't hear their argument.

Draco scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt and dead leaves from his robes. He scowled in what he hoped was a menacing manner. He was still a Malfoy, after all. He began to back away, taking small steps.

The centaurs seemed to finish their debating, and Bane turned back to Draco. He noticed the new distance between the centaurs and the boy, and in an instant he had bounded toward Draco, grabbed him, and pinned him against a wide tree. Draco's feet dangled several inches above the ground, and he whimpered pitifully.

"You can't run from us, boy!"

"Bane!"

The centaur paused. Bane's eyes widened as he recognized the voice. "Hagrid." His voice was laced with contempt, and Draco could tell the two weren't on the best of terms. Great. He did _not_ need that oaf to attempt to rescue him.

Bane shifted so he could look at Hagrid.

"Let the boy go," Hagrid said.

Bane laughed. "No."

Hagrid raised something sharp and metal. It took Draco a moment before he realized it was a crossbow.

"Let him go!" Hagrid roared.

Draco cowered. He had never seen the clumsy half-giant so forceful, so determined.

Bane scowled and dropped Draco. He landed on his hurt ankle, which promptly gave out on him. He collapsed in a heap at the creature's hooves.

"He is in _my_ forest, Hagrid, and he is not a boy. He needs to be punished."

"The boy has been through enough already tonight," Hagrid insisted. He paused. "There were Death Eaters in Hogwarts," he whispered, as if saying such things out loud were forbidden. "Dumbledore is…" he couldn't finish, but the giant-sized tears that welled in his eyes said enough.

"No," Ronan said. Hagrid nodded.

"Voldemort finally did it, then," Bane said.

Hagrid shook his head. He peered at Draco, and his gaze was almost accusatory. "No," he said finally. "Snape."

Bane looked up at the sky, and Hagrid lowered his crossbow.

"Tough times are truly upon us, aren't they?"

"Yes," Hagrid agreed, following the centaur's gaze.

Draco looked up, but all he saw were leaves and stars.

"Do you think the boy will make a difference?" Bane asked Hagrid.

"Yes."

"Then take him."

Hagrid nodded, and Draco nearly _cried_, he was so relieved. He scrambled up from the ground and followed Hagrid, limping the whole way. The half-giant offered to carry him, but he was too proud for that. So Draco limped, in pain, behind him, struggling to keep up with Hagrid's pace.

Finally, they emerged in the familiar garden behind Hagrid's hut, and Draco sighed with relief. Hagrid ushered him inside and closed the heavy door behind them.

Draco's eyes immediately wandered to the far corner, where three figures sat, huddled in front of the fire. He recognized them as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Granger was leaning against the Weasel, and Harry was stroking the head of a large dog. Draco wanted more than anything to lay in front of that fire with a soft blanket, but he had too much dignity to share it with Mudbloods and blood traitors.

Hagrid, of course, had no such class.

"Hiya," he called. All three of them looked up. Harry and Ron's faces were grim, but Hermione managed a small smile. "Look who I found in the Forest." Hagrid gestured to Draco, who scowled.

"Lucky you," Ron said sarcastically.

"Nice to see you too, Weasel," Draco quipped.

"Shut up, Ferret," Ron started.

Hermione got up. "Stop it," she said. She walked toward Draco and held out her hand. "I'm sorry for our past, but something has come up that requires us to work together. The three of us-" she gestured to herself and the two boys- "are willing to make a truce. Please say you'll accept."

Draco frowned. "Why do you need me?"

Hermione dropped her hand to her side and took a deep breath. "You know where You-Know-Who is. You know how to get to his Death Eaters, or at least… at least your father. And… you know where Snape has run to, don't you?"

Draco sneered. "I've only seen Voldemort in person once. I am… _was_… a new recruit, so I don't know any of the things you think I do. My father has fled, and he took my mother with him. And Snape… well, actually, I may know where he's gone."

Hermione looked hopefully at him. "You've been inside, with the Death Eaters, though. You grew up with one. Surely, there are things you know that we don't!"

"Give up, Granger! I probably don't know much more than you do!"

"But it's something!"

She moved closer to Draco, eyes begging for the information. Draco took a step back, momentarily placing all his weight on his bad ankle. It gave out on him again, and he fell, again.

Hermione's eyes widened. "I'm sorry!" She moved to help him up.

"Don't touch me, Mudblood!"

Hermione stopped. Draco could tell the word still hurt her. She slowly wrapped her arms around herself, and Ron rushed protectively to her side.

"Don't talk to her like that. You're nothing but a dirty-"

"Ron!" Harry spoke for the first time. Without removing his gaze from the fire, he continued. "This isn't the time for arguing. Malfoy, we want to make a truce with you. We think that if we combine what I know and what you know about Voldemort, we can win this war. We can make our world safe again."

"What if I don't _want_ you to win this war?" Draco demanded from his place on the floor.

"If Voldemort wins, we will all die. After your failure tonight, that includes you."

Draco tried to come up with a scathing remark, but he knew Harry's words were true.

"I hate you." Draco's voice came out as a low growl.

"No. You _want _to hate me, but you know that I'm right."

Draco hung his head, biting at his lip. It was a nervous, childish habit he had never quite grown out of. "Why do you trust me?"

"Because you didn't kill Dumbledore." Harry's breath hitched, and Draco could tell he was trying not to get upset over it.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Draco tried to pull himself up from the floor. He winced as he put weight onto his injured ankle.

"You're hurt," Hermione said.

Draco shook his head, but of course she didn't believe him.

"What happened?"

"I… I fell in the forest. My ankle…" Draco trailed off. He hated this. This was showing weakness, and Malfoys didn't…

Well, it didn't really matter what Malfoys did and did not do anymore, did it? His parents had abandoned him, choosing to save themselves instead of helping their weakened son. It hurt, and Draco suddenly felt very alone.

Hermione pulled a chair over to Draco, and he sat, unusually compliant. She lifted his right leg.

"This ankle?" she squeezed lightly, and Draco nodded, wincing.

She carefully removed his shoe and sock, to examine the swollen limb. "If Madam Pomfrey weren't so busy…" she began.

"It's just a sprain," Draco assured her. He scowled and tried to pull away, but Hermione held on to his leg.

"Come on, Hermione, you know how to fix that," Ron encouraged.

"I'm not a mediwitch."

"But you know nearly every spell known to wizardkind!"

Hermione sighed and pulled out her wand. She muttered a spell, and Draco felt a tingling sensation running up his leg. After a moment, the pain eased, and the swelling went down.

"This will make it heal faster, but it will probably still be tender for a few days."

Draco nodded, and Hermione managed a weak smile for him.

"Aren't you going to thank her?" Ron demanded.

Draco glared at him.

"It's not important, Ron," Hermione tried to assure him.

She looked at her hands, fingers absently toying with her wand. Draco felt like he should say _something_. Was this guilt? Merlin.

Draco took a deep breath and swallowed what little pride he had left. "No, he's right," he said through gritted teeth. "Thank you, Granger."

Hermione smiled, and Draco began to think maybe it wouldn't be so bad being around these people.

Wait.

When, exactly, did he concede to helping them? _Staying _with them? He was getting soft.

No, he was just tired. He hadn't slept properly in… well, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through the night. All of this Death Eater crap had been eating away at him. He'd been too worried that something like what _had _happened _would _happen.

That was it. He was tired, and stressed, and hurt. He'd come to his senses soon, and everything would be back to normal.

Maybe this was just a bad dream.

All he wanted now was to curl up in front of that fire and sleep. He'd figure it all out in the morning.

Draco yawned.

"We should all get some sleep," Hermione said softly.

"Right." Hagrid spoke for the first time since he had first entered the hut. "Might as well stay here. You're all safe with me. I'll get blankets, and… erm… food. Are you hungry at all?"

Ron and Draco shook their heads and Hermione voiced a soft, "No." Harry continued to stare into the fire, as if mesmerized by the flames.

"Harry?" Hagrid coaxed.

"No," Harry said. His voice shook in a way Draco had never heard from him before.

Another uncomfortable silence overtook the hut, and Hagrid went about gathering pillows and blankets. He laid them in front of the fire, and the others got comfortable for the night. Ron and Hermione lay close, fingers entwined. Draco lay a few feet away from them, wrapped in a green quilt that smelled of some sort of spice he couldn't quite identify. Harry sat apart from them, hugging a pillow to his chest and leaning against Fang.

"Night," Hagrid called, before dousing his lanterns.

"Good-night," four voices chorused, though with little enthusiasm. There was little that was good about that night, after all.

Hagrid's deep snores could be heard within minutes, and soon Ron and Hermione were asleep as well. When Draco fell asleep, Harry was still staring absently into the fire.


	2. Sodding Persistent Gryffindors

**Means of Escape:**** Sodding Persistent Gryffindors**

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This story contains slash, torture, violence, and sexual situations. It has not only Harry/Draco, but Harry/Neville and Hermione/Ron as well.

Thank you to my lovely beta, Hecticity.

---

Draco awoke to clanging pots and pans. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Mum?"

Someone next to him snickered.

"Thankfully, no."

Draco sat up too quickly, startled. He looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Wait. He was in Hagrid's hut. The events of the night before flooded back to him.

"Granger."

"My, aren't we quick this morning," she teased.

Draco frowned and groped around him for his wand. It seemed like everyone else knew something he didn't because Hermione just went back to cooking, and Ron and Harry were lost in conversation. It was as if this sort of thing happened every day.

"I'm making pancakes," Hermione announced. "I'm sure there will be a more extravagant breakfast in the Great Hall, as there usually is, but Harry, Ron and I would really rather just stay here for a while. After what happened yesterday, we aren't… we just can't… we're staying here." Hermione's brow wrinkled in frustration at her loss of words. Draco imagined that sort of thing didn't happen often to her.

Draco shrugged and got up to leave, thinking that a shower, a change of clothes, and a good breakfast would feel good; but then decided that probably wasn't a good idea. After all, he had tried and failed to kill the headmaster just the night before. The _trying_ part wouldn't sit well with most of the school, and the _failing_ part wouldn't sit well with the sons and daughters of Death Eaters.

Draco sighed and sat back down. "I'll stay."

Hermione smiled and went back to the pancakes. Draco shifted his attention to Harry and Ron.

Ron was sitting at Hagrid's table, which was entirely too high. He kept running his fingernails along the grain of the wood, and he didn't quite meet Harry's eye when he spoke. Harry sat next to Ron with his chin resting on his hands. His eyes tracked Ron's hands as they moved along the table. They spoke in hushed voices about trinkets that didn't seem to have any meaning as far as Draco could tell. A cup, a locket, a journal. They kept mentioning the locket over and over, but Draco could only catch snippets of the conversation, not enough to piece together.

Finally Hermione placed a large plate of pancakes in the center of the table, and the four of them started eating with little grace. Ron seemed to have the habit of talking with his mouth full, and Harry seemed too lost in thought to properly cut his food before shoving it in his mouth. Hermione was the most civilized, but laughed and snorted at inopportune times at Ron's jokes (which Draco didn't think were all that funny to begin with), revealing mouthfuls of food.

Overall, Draco was appalled at the general lack of manners. At least the half-giant wasn't there to make it worse, though.

Which reminded him…

"Where's Hagrid?"

Harry stiffened, Ron stopped chewing, letting his mouth hang open (disgusting), and Hermione swallowed slowly.

"He's helping with… erm… Dumbledore," she said tentatively.

Draco nodded in understanding, and tactlessly shoved some pancakes in his mouth so he wouldn't have to answer. Maybe there was something good about a general lack of manners, after all.

After breakfast, Ron and Harry helped Hermione with the dishes, and Draco sulked. He felt trapped. He had done something horrible, something _unforgivable_, and he wanted desperately to go back and set things right.

But now, he was stuck here. If the Death Eaters found him he'd be killed for his failure. If the Order or the Ministry caught him, they'd persecute him for attempted murder. Then he had to remind himself that the people around him were members of the Order, and they had been rather pleasant to him. He began to grow suspicious, which didn't help his surly mood at all.

Then, of course, was the fact that he was still tired, dirty, and in mild pain. His restless sleep had been plagued with dreams of the last night's events, and he was still in his robes from the night before. He desperately wanted a shower, but didn't want to use Hagrid's, like Hermione had. There was just something… _wrong_ about it all. And he wished the dull ache in his ankle would just _go away, already_!

Malfoys really deserved better than this.

Fed but still miserable, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

---

The first thing Draco noticed when he woke was hushed voices whispering in a nervous manner nearby. He quickly weighed his options, and decided to stay where he was. He let his breathing fall into a slow, even pattern, and pretended he was still asleep.

"You can't go alone," Hermione was saying. "I know you want to find the locket, but… well… it's dangerous!"

_What the hell is with this locket, anyway?_ Draco wondered.

"Stop it! You know I have to," Harry replied.

"You could get hurt!" Hermione pleaded. "Take an Auror with you. Tonks would-"

"I'm not putting anyone else in danger, Hermione."

_Such a sodding self-righteous Gryffindor_.

"Look, mate, she's got a point. It would be easier if someone were with you."

"No, Ron. I'm doing it on my own. I've got to find it before I have to go back to Privet Drive."

_Privet Drive, Privet Drive… should that mean something to me?_

"You can't just leave, Harry!"

_This stupid conversation is just going in circles. Can we move on please?_

"Besides, mate, what are we going to do with him?"

Draco could _feel_ Ron's eyes on him.

"Draco can… I don't… we can bring him to Grimmauld Place." Harry's voice seemed to gain confidence as he spoke.

"Harry, that doesn't seem-"

"No, Hermione, I don't care. He's coming to Grimmauld Place with us."

_Now, that name sounds kind of familiar…._

There was a long silence.

"Harry, he's not like that." Hermione was awfully good at breaking tense silences.

"Like what?"

_Yeah, like what?_

"Like… you," Ron said.

Hermione elaborated. "I know you've been with… well… I'll admit that he does look_ pretty_ when he's not insulting us, but he truly is a git, and for all we know, he's into girls."

_Shows how much you know, Granger. Aren't you supposed to be the perceptive one? Not that I would go for Potter any-_

_Wait a minute. Potter's gay?!_

"There's just something about Draco, Hermione."

_Draco?_

Draco sat up then, stretching and pushing back the blanket he'd been curled under. "You know, it's not nice to talk about people when they're only a few feet away."

There was a short silence before Hermione responded, "It's not nice to pretend to be sleeping so you can eavesdrop on a conversation."

"Point taken. But it doesn't change the fact that I now know a rather interesting secret about our local hero."

Harry flushed red. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough." Draco smirked.

Harry got up and left the cabin, and Hermione glared at Draco. Ron didn't seem to know what to do.

"You're a git, you know that?" Hermione said.

"So I've heard," Draco drawled. He finally felt like he had the upper hand again. Somehow, belittling Gryffindors felt empowering.

Ron raised his wand threateningly, but Hermione grabbed his arm. "Don't, it's not worth it." Reluctantly, Ron obeyed.

Draco wanted to provoke them further, but he knew when to stop. He had nowhere else to go, after all. He retreated to the corner by the fireplace and debated how to best best survive the war that was now very obviously upon them. For a Malfoy, survival is key, after all.

---

For the rest of the afternoon, Ron and Hermione were in and out of the cabin. Draco assumed they were going to wherever Harry was. He guessed he had really upset Harry, then.

Fuck.

Well, so what if the prat was gay? He was gay too. Not that anyone knew that of course, but that was beside the point.

It also didn't matter that Harry was attractive, in an unkempt, innocent sort of way. Draco had noticed it during a Quidditch game several months ago. Not only did Draco like the way he _looked_, but the way he _flew_ was graceful and infatuating in an entirely inappropriate way.

Slytherin seekers are not supposed to fall for their Gryffindor rivals.

Finally, Hermione's nervous pacing and Ron's stupid jokes, which Draco guessed were supposed to lighten the mood, got to him.

"Is Potter still sulking? Merlin, must I do everything myself? Where is he?"

Hermione stopped pacing, and Ron stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck.

"Well?"

"Erm… he's in the greenhouse with Neville," Ron answered.

Draco rolled his eyes. Great. Now he had to deal with a paranoid Mudblood, a classless Weasel, a sulky supposed-hero, and a near magic-less klutz.

He left the hut in search of Harry.

---

Harry was right where Ron said he'd be, but the wanker hadn't prepared Draco for what Harry was _doing_ in the greenhouse.

Harry was leaning against a cabinet in the back, mostly hidden behind large plants. Neville was pressed against him, arms around his waist. Harry's hands roamed inside of Neville's robes, and the two boys were frotting furiously.

"Bloody hell, Potter!" Draco exclaimed.

Neville pulled away quickly, but Harry grabbed his hand. Neville's cheeks tinged pink, and he looked at the floor. Harry just glared at Draco.

"This morning you were pining after _me _and now you're _snogging_ Longbottom! What the _fuck_, Potter?"

Harry's eyes widened at almost the same time that Neville's did. Neville looked at him for confirmation.

"I was not pining after you, Malfoy. Believe it or not, the world doesn't revolve around you." His voice was low, threatening.

"H-Harry?" Neville stammered.

Harry's expression softened immediately, and he turned to his – boyfriend? "Sorry, Neville. I don't know what he's talking about." He leaned forward and kissed him softly.

Draco scowled, and fought down the unfamiliar feeling that was rising in him. Potter and Longbottom. Sickening. Shouldn't Harry be with someone more powerful? The sodding supposed hero of the wizarding world shouldn't be with the ever-hopeless Longbottom.

Draco's lips curled into a derisive sneer. Harry glared at him, green eyes challenging. He slid his arm around Longbottom's waist possessively.

And Draco was _not_ jealous.

He turned and stalked away. He had more to worry about now than the state of his love-life, anyway.

---

Draco walked toward Hagrid's hut, but realized he didn't want to go there.

He moved toward the castle, but realized it probably wasn't safe there.

He stopped, because he realized that he was stuck. He absently rubbed his left arm, thinking about everything that had gone wrong this year. He had taken the Mark, been given an impossible task, failed miserably, and put himself and his parents in great danger.

His father had come that night to see Draco's success. He had always gotten a rush being part of a battle, anyway, and this was supposed to be a big moment for the family. His mother, who had mostly stayed out of the battles, had come to support him, and Draco had failed her.

Draco paced the distance between Hagrid's hut and the greenhouses. He hated these moments of helplessness, of indecision. Finally, he decided that he had to get out of there. He had to find his parents; because, surely, they hadn't _meant _to abandon him like that? It had to be his own fault, really. He had pushed them into the situation. Now it was up to him to go find them.

His mind was spinning, trying to figure it all out. He had to be careful. Off the Hogwarts grounds, he would have no protection. He'd only have his wand, and the defensive spells he'd learned over the past few years.

The more he paced, the more urgent it all became. Draco was growing _desperate_. He hated being here, and now that he knew Potter obviously didn't care about him – which only mattered, of course, because the prat was supposed to be _protecting_ him from the Dark Lord – it seemed pointless to stay. If he didn't have Potter, who _did _he have? The Mudblood and the incompetent half-giant?

No, it was definitely time to leave.

Where would Narcissa and Lucius _go_? The Manor? The Manor was unplottable, and it had enough defenses around it to keep the Death Eaters out, didn't it? It was a good place to start, anyway.

Draco turned abruptly and headed for the gates. He moved with all the confidence that he didn't have, head held high with Malfoy pride. In his mind, he was almost _daring_ someone to try to stop him. He pulled out his wand, holding it ready at his side.

Nearly to the gates, he was stopped by a familiar voice.

"Draco?"

He turned to face Hermione.

"Where are you going?"

Draco raised his wand. "I'm leaving. You can't stop me."

Hermione looked worried, and Draco sneered as menacingly as he could. His heart just wasn't in it, though, and Hermione didn't look intimidated.

"Aren't you going to help us?"

"I don't need anything from you. I have no reason to help anyone but myself."

"Draco, please come back. It's not safe. There are Death Eaters everywhere, and you _know _Voldemort won't let you live."

There was _Draco_ again. When did the Gryffindors start calling him by his given name? Yet, she was softening him. Merlin.

"I don't need you," he said indignantly.

"Fine! You don't need us! We need you, Draco, please, come back!" Hermione sounded frustrated, and she looked up instead of at Draco as she said it.

Draco hesitated. He knew she was right, it would be too easy for him to get caught. He stood straight, making himself as tall as he could. He wouldn't admit things like that to Hermione.

"If I help you, you help me."

"Fine, whatever you want, within reason," Hermione said.

Draco nodded, and Hermione's tumultuous expression finally settled into a soft smile. He began walking back to the hut, and she followed.

---

Potter was staring at Draco from across the table. He was tapping his fingers lightly against the wood, waiting with a determined look in his eye. Draco sat with his arms crossed, equally determined to not be the first to speak. He was slumped slightly in his chair, looking pointedly away from Potter. The silence between them was absolute and unnerving, and Draco was growing uncomfortable. He would not, however, give in to the tension.

He'd told Potter about the Dark Mark – how he'd gotten it, what it felt like when he was summoned. He'd told Potter about the task he had received, and that Voldemort had given him the option of completing the task or watching his mother die. He'd nearly cried several times, but had stopped himself, because _Malfoys don't cry. _

Potter had wanted to know about the other Death Eaters, where Voldemort met with his followers, where he was _staying_, and Draco had answered as best as he could. Yet, it wasn't _enough_. Draco didn't know all the answers, but Potter was convinced (and though Draco hated to admit it, he was probably right) that Lucius _would_.

Finally, Harry sighed. "Just answer the question, Malfoy."

So, he was back to being _Malfoy_ now. Draco smirked, but still didn't look at his tormenter.

Okay, so _tormenter_ was a bit dramatic. Still, there was no reason he should be in such an uncomfortable state, in this quiet competition with the Boy Who - on second thought, never mind. Potter didn't deserve such titles, insulting or otherwise.

"What does it matter, Potter? Finding my father won't bring you any closer to finding Voldemort. He's shit-scared of the Dark Lord."

"It matters! Where _is_ he?"

"You don't need to know!" Draco looked up, gray eyes stormy with frustration.

"He's closer to Voldemort than you are, we can _use_ him!" Potter leaned forward, demanding.

"He'd never consent to that!" Draco looked away again, pretending to find the grain of the wood far more fascinating than Potter's preoccupation with his family. Inside, he was fuming, of course.

"We have – look, it doesn't matter how we intend to _get_ the information, Malfoy, just tell me where he's gone!"

"I'm not handing my father over to be tortured!"

"I never said anything about-"

Draco looked up again, face set into a practiced sneer. "Fuck you!"

Harry glared at him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, you ponce?"

"Look who's talking! You and Longbottom were practically shagging in the greenhouse!"

"Leave Neville out of this." Harry's voice was low, threatening. Draco could tell he had hit on a sensitive subject.

"You leave my parents out of this!"

"This _is _about your parents!"

"I thought this was about me."

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Malfoy."

There was a long pause. Draco glared at a wall, and Harry frowned at Draco.

Draco's mind was whirling. His parents were gone. He had been abandoned. But surely, they hadn't _meant_ to abandon him? He kept going over and over the events of that night, but none of it made any sense. It was childish, but more than anything, he wanted to be with his mother. They could protect each other.

He hoped she was safe. Surely, if she was with Lucius, she'd be okay?

But Draco couldn't delude himself into thinking that. His father wasn't quite stable anymore. Draco had spent most of his life trying to please that man, and had never quite succeeded.

And now… well, he had failed. He'd never meet his father's expectations.

Harry's voice interrupted Draco's thoughts. "Where are they?"

"I don't know!" Draco cried, frustrated.

"You don't know?"

Draco didn't respond, just looked at the floor.

"You've been wasting my time." Potter got up and stormed out of the cabin.

Draco put his head in his hands. He didn't want to do this anymore. He didn't want to be a Death Eater, or even part of the war. He didn't want to fight with Harry Potter, and didn't even have the energy to defend himself anymore.

He wanted to go home, to be in a familiar place with his Mum. He felt a strong compulsion to protect her. He realized he wanted to find his father just as much as Harry did. It was Lucius' fault she was in danger in the first place.

But there was nothing he could do. Once he left the Hogwarts grounds, he's be targeted and killed.

When had he become so afraid?

When had he not been? Until now, he'd just been good at hiding it.

Merlin.

---

When Draco realized that Hagrid would be cooking his dinner that night, he opted to pass on it. He took a shower instead, finally giving in to the fact that he looked like crap, and didn't smell much better.

The bathroom was decorated with the hides of various animals, and the drain in the shower was nearly completely clogged with hair, but it wasn't quite as bad as Draco had expected. The water was warm and soothing, anyway.

Draco turned off the faucet and dried off quickly with a towel he suspected as once being a part of an animal of some sort. It was scratchy, and he scowled at it and tossed it aside. As he slipped into his robes, he heard voices through the door.

"…I saw it! And Malfoy's not giving me any more information, so I might as well." Draco recognized the voice as Harry's.

"'s not safe. Take Ron and Hermione, and an Auror or two. You shouldn't be out alone."

Where was Potter going? But the voices stopped then, and Draco wasn't getting any more information. He sighed and stepped out of the bathroom, running a hand through his still-wet hair.

Draco was acutely aware of Potter's eyes on him. Draco's robes were open, and he didn't have a shirt on underneath. He also knew that with his hair wet and slicked back just right, he looked dead sexy.

Sexier than Longbottom, anyway.

Draco smirked, and Harry frowned at him and turned back to Hagrid. The two continued talking in hushed tones, soft enough that even though he was in the same room, Draco couldn't make out the words. He moved close to the fire and pulled a blanket across his knees. Hagrid looked worried, and Draco wanted to know what they were talking about.

Eventually, Harry lay down near him, and both boys fell into a fitful sleep.


	3. Curses and Confessions

**Means of Escape: ****Curses and Confessions**

**--- **

This story contains slash, torture, violence, and sexual situations. It has not only Harry/Draco, but Harry/Neville and Hermione/Ron as well.

Thank you to my lovely beta, Hecticity.

---

Draco was having a lovely dream, in which he was in a nice, clean shower with some dark-haired bloke. It was all interrupted by a persistent tapping, however. The bloke turned to him and said, "Shouldn't you answer that?"

Dream-Draco frowned, and looked at the nearly-naked boy – why they were wearing mole-skin boxers in the shower anyway was beyond him – and sighed in defeat.

Draco sat up and looked around, slightly disoriented from being torn from the dream. His eyes focused on the Hagrid's sleeping form, and Draco remembered where he was.

He pushed the blankets aside, and looked for the source of the irritating noise. Couldn't Potter or that damned half-breed make it stop? Draco looked at the pile of blankets where Harry had fallen asleep, but he wasn't there. Draco frowned. Maybe he was off shagging Longbottom. Merlin knew he could use it.

Come to think of it, Draco thought _he_ could use a good fuck too.

The tapping had turned to scratching, and Draco turned irritably toward the noise. His mother's Eagle owl was scratching impatiently on a high glass window.

_Does this mean Mum is safe?_

Draco got up and opened the window, forgetting about both his dream and his irritation. The owl landed on the wooden table and stuck out its leg, waiting for Draco to take the rolled-up parchment tied to it.

Draco untied the parchment as quickly as his shaking hands would allow.

_Let her be okay, please, let her be okay._

The letter looked like it was written in haste, but it was his mother's handwriting, if a bit messier than usual. He had to read the carefully-worded letter twice before the relief could fully set in.

_I hope you are well. Your father and I are safe in familiar grounds. I hope you haven't been worried. From what I hear, you aren't in danger yet, but I fear that soon you will be. I will keep you safe. You can find me with my mother. I send my love._

Neither his nor his mother's names were on the paper. She was being so careful.

Draco wondered when Harry would be back.

Not that it mattered. He should leave before sunrise, anyway.

Draco paced the small hut. His mother had said he was safe for now. He could leave this wretched place; he could find her. The more he paced, the more appealing the idea became. And now would be a good time to go, after all. It was still dark, and no one would notice. Hermione wouldn't be able to stop him again.

Draco made up his mind and slipped quietly from the hut. He made his way along the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. The whole time, he kept hearing _noises_, and paranoia was getting the best of him. What if someone saw him? What if he was followed? There were far too many _what ifs_ for his tastes lately. After several minutes that felt like much, much longer, Draco slipped unnoticed through the front gate.

Draco thought about his home, the familiar rooms, and the gardens surrounding the estate. There were spells protecting the Malfoy Manor, and Draco remembered that he couldn't Apparate directly into it. He concentrated instead on a secluded area not far away, a tuft of trees on the edge of the estate. He raised his wand, turned once in place, and Apparated away.

---

Draco could see the Manor in the distance, dark and foreboding. It had never been a friendly-looking place, exactly, but it had always been _home_. Now, however, the Manor looked empty and almost threatening.

Draco began to think that he shouldn't have come here. Why would his parents go to such an obvious place? He must have misread the letter. He searched his pockets for the piece of parchment absently. Not finding it soon enough, he frowned and gave up the search as pointless. He was at the Manor now anyway, he might as well look. At the very least, he could get a change of clothes.

Draco moved toward the front door, trying to remember all of the spells and codes to get past the defenses his father had set around the Manor. It was surprisingly easy. Draco supposed that in his haste on that night, Lucius had forgotten to set a few of them. Draco gave the entrance password, and the door opened silently. He stepped into the familiar front hall.

"Mum? Father?"

He received no answer, and moved further into the house. It was too cold inside, and Draco wrapped his arms around himself. He tried to magically light the lanterns or chandeliers, but he felt magic pushing back against him. The lights flared once, and went out with a pop.

Obviously, his father was being overcautious.

Draco pulled out his wand and managed a weak _Lumos_ to light the halls. He began wandering through the maze of rooms, heading toward the portrait of Druella Rosier-Black. When he found it, the frame was empty. Draco was worried, but whispered the spell that would unlock the secret door behind it anyway. The door opened on a stairwell, and Draco stepped carefully down, resetting the spell behind him.

"Mum?" he called.

The light on his wand flickered inconsistently. The sheer amount of concentrated magic in the air was unnerving.

"Mum, are you here?"

"Draco?" The voice was low and tired, but Draco recognized it as his mother's.

"Mum!" he called, and began to stumble through the dark in the direction of her voice.

"No, Draco! Go back!" It sounded so much more urgent all of a sudden. Draco heard a sharp slap, and then the lights came on.

Draco found himself in the dungeon below the Manor, as he had expected. But he had never been down here when it was… occupied.

Narcissa was hung against the wall, her arms pinned painfully above her head and her feet dangling a few inches above the floor. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes red. She was wearing the same robes she had been when they had fled Hogwarts, open, with nothing underneath. Lucius stood next to her, absently petting her abdomen and breasts as he sneered at his son.

Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Dolohov had their wands trained on him.

Draco spun around slowly, analyzing. His father – Lucius – had betrayed his Mum, hadn't he? And Draco had fallen right into a trap.

"Draco, I was wondering how long it would take for you to join us," Lucius said in a self-satisfied sort of way.

Draco scowled and pointed his wand at his father.

"Oh, we can't have any of that," Lucius said, and made a gesture with his hand.

Draco heard Bellatrix begin to shout something behind him, and he waved his wand in that direction, casting the first offensive spell that came to mind.

"_Sectumsempra!"_

Bellatrix dropped her wand and clutched her now-bloody face. In moments, Rodolphus was by her side, distracted by her wailing. Dolohov took the opportunity to cast an Imperius Curse on him.

Draco moved unwillingly toward his mother. Everything seemed hazy, and he wasn't sure what he was doing until he felt the warmth of her breasts beneath his fingers. Her eyes were shut tightly, and she was shaking.

_No!_

He fought against the force in his mind. _Let me go! Let my mother go!_

_Touch her._

_NO!_ Draco pushed, and the haze cleared. He panicked, and reached for his wand; but he didn't have it. He looked around frantically, and Dolohov prepared to cast another spell.

"Enough!" Lucius cried, and his voice rang off the stone walls of the dungeon. Dolohov frowned, but lowered his wand. Draco wondered when his father had gotten so powerful.

There was a long pause. Draco's mind was reeling. _Why are we here, got to get out, save Mum, got to get out! How? _After a moment that seemed to last for hours, Draco took a tentative step toward his mother.

Lucius moved suddenly, and before he could properly register what had happened, Draco was on the floor, crying out in pain. He initially tried to fight it, but it seemed pointless to fight the Cruciatus.

He looked into the cruel gray eyes of his father with as much hate as he could muster. He held the gaze until Lucius moved his wand, and another wave of pain hit him.

Minutes, hours, must have gone by. Draco begged for mercy, for himself, for his mother. He banged his fists on the stones in frustration.

"Stop! Let Mum go! You have to stop! I'm your _son_!"

It stopped suddenly. Draco collapsed in a heap on the floor, chest heaving, but he was lifted up roughly. Lucius held him by the neck of his robes and looked coldly into his eyes.

"You are not my son. You are _nothing_ to me or your mother."

Draco glanced at Narcissa, and there were fresh tears in her eyes. Lucius followed his gaze.

"Yes. You are nothing to us."

He tossed Draco back to the floor. Draco let out a hard sob that hurt his throat. He tried not to cry, but the pain was getting to him.

"Why is she tied up?" Draco demanded

He was determined to keep fighting. He had to find a weakness, a way to beat his father.

He _had _to find his wand.

Lucius cast the Cruciatus again, and Draco writhed against the pain. Draco scrambled along the floor, hands searching for his wand. His limbs felt heavy, and it was hard to move. Then – success! He clamped his fist around the familiar wood.

Something heavy fell on the hand suddenly, crushing his fingers and splitting the wand at the same time. Draco yelled in renewed pain, and looked up. Dolohov had stepped on him.

Dolohov leered down at Draco, who thrashed out in wild panic. Then he was on the floor again, screaming in pain, forgetting all the ways he had learned to defend himself against such curses.

Narcissa was crying, and Draco was screaming, and Lucius was _laughing_, and none of it mattered, because Draco was_ nothing_ and he was going to die in that dungeon.

And then it stopped. There was a lot of green, and then nothing.

Draco wondered why he couldn't see, then realized that he had his eyes clamped tightly shut. He opened them slowly, afraid of what he'd find, of who would be dead.

Lucius was on the floor next to him, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Dolohov was nearby, also dead. Bellatrix and Rodolphus were gone, and Narcissa still hung against the wall, sobbing.

Harry Potter stood in the middle of the room, looking morbidly triumphant, if that was even possible. Two Aurors, Moody and Shacklebolt, stood behind him, wands still raised.

Draco was breathing hard. It seemed like he couldn't get enough air, enough r_elief _into his body. Heavy breathing turned into retching sobs, and soon Draco was shaking and crying uncontrollably.

After a moment he felt strong arms lifting him, and he leaned into the touch, even though he still hurt like hell, and having someone pulling on him wasn't helping.

"Come on, Draco, it's not safe here."

Draco recognized the voice as Harry's, and stiffened, trying in vain to push himself away from the boy. Harry held him tightly, however, and Draco collapsed dejectedly against him, trying not to cry into his robes. He felt a hand stroking his hair. It was comforting, and Draco began to release some of the built-up tension in his muscles.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry whispered. "I shouldn't have run off like that. I should have stayed with you at Hagrid's longer."

"Git," Draco managed to say.

---

Draco woke up in an unfamiliar but soft bed, his right hand tightly bandaged. Sunlight filtered through light curtains, and he could feel a soft breeze from an open window nearby. He sat up, wincing at the lingering pain from the curses the night before.

He tried to remember what had happened after Harry came, but he couldn't. He tried to sort things out in his mind.

He had fallen into a trap.

His father was dead.

His mother was… he didn't know what had happened to her!

Draco threw back the covers and stumbled out of the room. "Mum?" he called.

"Draco!"

He had walked right into Hermione. The tray she had been carrying crashed to the floor.

Draco started to apologize, but stopped. Had Granger just called him _Draco_?

Hermione sighed. She waved her wand, and the mess flew back to the tray. She frowned at it. "That was your breakfast."

Draco snorted irritably.

"Well, we'll just have to make you something else. Come down to the kitchen with me."

"Where am I?" Draco demanded.

"You're… safe. This is Grimmauld Place, the headquarters of the Order of the Pheonix. Harry seems to think you'll willingly help us now."

The old Black house? It seemed sort of ironic, seeing as most of the living Blacks were Death Eaters. "Where's my mother?"

"She hasn't come out of her room since Harry and Moody brought you two here."

"How long ago was that?"

"You're rather demanding, aren't you?"

"Well, I don't know what happened, I woke up in a strange place, and the last thing I remember my mother was in serious danger." Draco scowled at her.

There was a pause. "I'm sorry, Draco. Harry won't talk about what happened last night. All I know is that the four of you came back at two in the morning, looking as if you'd been through battle."

Draco took a deep breath and tried to digest that information. "I want to see my mother."

"Second door on the left." Hermione gestured down the long hallway.

Draco nodded his thanks, and headed to the door she had pointed out. He stopped in front of it and turned back. "Hey, Granger."

"Yes?"

"You'll keep my mother safe here, right?"

"Of course."

"Then, we're even. I help you, you help me, right?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes."

Hermione continued down the hall, and Draco turned to knock on the door. After a pause, he heard a soft, "Yes?"

"Mum?"

The door opened, and Draco smiled for the first time in weeks. "You're okay, then."

Narcissa held out her arms, and Draco allowed her to pull him into a crushing, motherly hug.

---

After a long talk with his mother concerning their loyalties and the horrible things Lucius had forced them into over the years, Draco sought the kitchen. He hadn't eaten in over a day, and his stomach was protesting. He found the room on the lowest level, occupied by Harry and Neville, who spoke in hushed voices over a plate of fruit. He opened the refrigerator, wondering if anyone around there was a decent cook.

"Hey," Harry greeted.

"Can I eat anything here?" Draco asked.

"Yeah," Harry said.

Draco took out some eggs and bacon, and looked helplessly at the stove. He'd never learned how to cook.

Neville snorted, obviously holding back laughter at Draco's confused state. "I'll see you around, Harry," he said. He leaned forward as if to kiss him, but stopped. Neville blushed, and walked away instead.

Interesting.

"So, are you going to cook that?" Harry asked, amused.

"I don't know how," Draco admitted reluctantly.

Harry laughed – actually _laughed_, the prat – and moved to turn the stove on. He put the eggs and bacon in separate frying pans and Draco watched him cook, his hands moving in graceful patterns. Draco's gaze traveled up to Harry's face, where a small smile played on his lips.

"It's sort of like potions," Harry explained. "You just follow the recipes." He gestured to a stack of cooking books off to the side.

Draco watched the hand, scarred but nimble, move back to Harry's side. Harry played with the knobs on front of the stove. Draco looked up at Harry's face. His brow was furrowed, and his bottom lip curled inward, as if he were thinking hard about something.

Merlin, he looked good. If Draco hadn't been attracted to Harry before... well, if he was honest with himself, he'd been attracted to Harry for a while. These past few days had just made the possibility of having a relationship with him believable.

Draco took a step closer to Harry, staying just far enough away to not hinder the elegant movements of his hands.

Or rather, his cooking; because Draco wasn't about to admit that he liked watching Harry's hands. Though, he wondered what they felt like. His own hands were soft and aristocratic, he imagined Harry's wouldn't be.

Harry's expression softened, and he sighed, seeming to make a decision about whatever he had been thinking so intently about.

"Neville and I are… well, we broke up," Harry said, meeting Draco's gaze.

"I didn't ask-"

"I know. I… wanted you to know... We were never really serious anyway. He needed confidence, and I needed a distraction." There was a pause, during which the only sound was the sizzling of the frying pans.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"You're in danger. It's safe here." Harry's new patience was unnerving to Draco.

"I don't have any more information for you," Draco said.

"We looked for Snape. He wasn't there."

Draco was having a hard time keeping up with the rapid changes of topic. "If he's not there, I don't know where he is."

"I know. I don't need you here for that." Harry took a plate from a nearby cabinet and pushed the food onto it.

"Why am I here then? Really?"

Harry looked him in the eye, and Draco could see frustration in his face. "I don't… well, I do. I want you to help us, and not just for information. Fight with us."

"I don't have to choose a side of the war."

"You're not safe on your own."

Draco knew he was right, but why was he so _persistent_?

"And, I think I…" Harry frowned. "I've developed a bit of a crush on you."

Draco's initial shock wore off quickly enough, and he smirked. "Well, I am bloody gorgeous."

Harry laughed. "You're bloody arrogant, too."

"Now Potter, is that any way to talk to your crush?"

Harry actually blushed a bit, and Draco couldn't hold back any more. He took Harry's hand in his one good one and pulled him close. The skin felt rough and warm, and Draco could feel the bumps of old scars. Harry looked surprised, but quickly recovered, his fingers curling around Draco's.

Draco hesitated. He let his thumb caress Harry's palm. Harry seemed to be waiting for him to do something, though, so Draco pressed his lips to Harry's in a crushing kiss.

Too soon, Harry pulled away, but he was smiling. "Besides, you owe me."

Both boys recovered their confidence, and Draco let his lips twist into a smirk. "For what, Potter?" he asked, with a teasing tone to his voice.

Harry wrapped an arm around Draco's waist, pulling them closer together. They shared another short kiss. "For finding and saving your sorry arse. I should have been out looking for Horcruxes, not you."

Draco frowned, but kept his lips close to Harry's. "What's a Horcrux?"

"They're seemingly useless but very powerful artifacts that you're going to help me find and destroy, because you know more about the Dark Arts than anyone here, with the exception of Moody." Harry slid his tongue along Draco's bottom lip enticingly.

"Oh, so you're using me?" Draco smirked. He liked this game, this arguing and kissing.

"No, this is just convenient."

"Git," Draco said, before kissing him again.

---

---

:) _Pink_


End file.
